


Coda

by lazucamellia



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, In a way, Music, One-Sided Relationship, POV Third Person Omniscient, but its the minagi cinematic universe where all the play charas live in the same world just cuz, help i dunno what to tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:08:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28625457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazucamellia/pseuds/lazucamellia
Summary: Two outcasts of the music world find themselves under the same roof.
Relationships: Citron & Guy (A3!), Citron & Minagi Tsuzuru, Saionji Ennis & Erik, Saionji Ennis & Hino Katsumi, at the end as a treat, they never meet though
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	Coda

**Author's Note:**

> So you see I heard a song with very vengeful lyrics that Guy's seiyuu sang and it had strings so my play character loving brain said "Zahragumi play leads" and this manifested I don't even know if it makes sense I just wanted an excuse to write these two-

The wings of the old opera hall housed a mystery... A mystery which resided in the shadows. A mystery with an all-seeing eye whom many claimed to have caught a glimpse of, and yet none have truly come face to face with arguably the opera house’s most famous urban legend.

A supposed ghost.

The Phantom of the Opera as he had been dubbed overtime.

And to this day, none have met him.

Perhaps it was no surprise the concert hall that would be built atop the charred remains of that old and broken opera house would carry the legacy of that myth. The legend of the phantom who lurked out of sight, but never out of mind. Some people were even skeptical of such a man’s very existence, assuming he had been lost to time.

Of these people was a young prodigy of the musical arts. One whose caliber was unmatched in the modern age with his mastery of the violin among other instruments.

Ennis Saionji.

It was just local folklore, he thought. After all, his own school had its fair share of local myths that, frankly, he could care less about. Even despite growing closer with the rest of the chamber group, even Ennis had to wonder if they had any better way to pass their time, time that could have been used polishing their arrangement instead of wasting time in the practice room.

... He misses their antics, if he was being truthful with himself, but perhaps those silly tales weaved together to get a rouse out of him were something he could do without.

Harugaoka Private Music School and France were one in the same in that aspect: housing intricate and fantastical fantasies.

That wasn’t the point of interest, however.

Being invited to play on the world stage, amongst the best of the best in the umbrella of music wasn’t an everyday thing, even for a genius such as himself. He may have been a big shot in Japan, but to the rest of the world, Ennis Saionji was but a hometown hero. The very privilege to travel overseas had been such a big deal, he spent every waking moment perfecting the performance he would give down to its very core.

To captivate his audience was his goal. To showcase his talent as Ennis Saionji, a proud former student of Harugaoka Private Music School, and to make his colleagues and teachers proud back home was his goal.

However, for a man such as he who strived for perfection, such goals could never truly be accomplished.

The showcase has long since ended, the music hall empty and barren. Yet the man finds his way back to the stage, violin case in hand and newfound determination in his step as he approaches the grand stage. He recalls the stage used in all kinds of ways. From orchestras to bands to singers and dancers from all over the world to bask in the limelight for but a moment, to be recognized by the world and have their crucial time of fame...

He was one of those people, and yet, it was never enough to satisfy him.

He steps up to the stage, the lights not as blinding and overbearing as before. Dim lights shine overhead and Ennis finds a sense of intimacy with the stage. One he could not properly have in front of the crowd... A time where he could be vulnerable, just like he was with the quartet not too long ago.

He opens up the violin case, a calloused hand brushing over his beloved instrument. He’s amazed that it’s been through so much to end up taking it overseas with him. Even despite the dimness, the wood’s finish shines to withstand the test of time. Alongside the bow, he takes it in his hands, checking it, carefully examining the bridge, the neck, the strings, the fine fibers of the bow...

Perfect in its own way... Just like he was.

Ennis promptly lifts the violin up, resting his chin down. Fingers cradle the neck with a firm daintiness. With his free hand, he holds the bow and places it down on the strings without a sound.

He shuts his eyes in the silence of the music hall. Basking in the quiet, he meditates... Thinking back on the feelings he wanted to convey.

Pride.

Elegance.

But most of all... Gratitude.

And he slowly slides the bow against the strings as a harmonious strum resonates around the space.

It echoes just as it had during the showcase prior, yet, he feels more connected with the music. Call it cowardice for not playing at his very best, but the song he was playing, the story he was telling at that very moment... It was just what he wanted to say without using any words at all.

The song flows as it travels through his fingertips, down to the reverberating strings as they send his message flying into the empty space. Swaying to and fro, as though the music was puppeteering him instead, Ennis continues in his musical assault. His body follows the rise and fall of the melody, graceful as a ballerina as he stands atop the stage.

The stage was his and his alone in that moment.

And truly for that moment as the song finishes and Ennis makes a final decisive blow. One more strum, and it ends.

He remains there, still as a statue as he lets the last notes dissipate into the open air until only silence lingers. The sound of his own breath with every careful pant he made and the beating of his heart are what were left behind.

This same completion was met with a different response during the showcase. A thunderous uproar of applause boomed within the music hall as the cascade of people clapped. The formal congratulatory cheers were something he wasn’t unfamiliar with after countless local competitions in the past. Just being in front of such a huge crowd like that, all praising your expertise in such a way was rewarding on its own.

Yet Ennis finds his song had better luck in his solitude. More expressive, more meaningful, more grandiose than when he was in the presence of all those people.

More perfect, yet no one would know.

He releases himself from his position as he lowers his violin and bow with a click of his tongue and a mutter.

“Not good enough.”

His lack of satisfaction carries into the air as he stares down at his beloved instrument, examining it knowing full well it was not his weapon’s fault for such poor performance...

But the performer himself.

But what? What was he struggling to convey?

He slowly paces about the stage, the click of his shoes resonant as it travels in the empty hall. Ennis locks himself in his personal mind palace, weaving through thought after thought for the answer. Even then, it’s not something a self-proclaimed genius can find so easily. The violinist walks about the stage, pondering and pondering…

_Unaware of the other presence in his midst._

Hidden in the shade of the barren upper balconies and shielded by the dim stage lights, a man watches the young musician in his internal search.

He’s had an eye on Ennis since the showcase, observing from the wings of the stage. The man had been doing this long before the music hall had been built, always secretive, quiet, as silent as death itself.

Judging the world with a ruthless eye.

He’s come to learn the world was but a cesspool of greed and ego. After all, he learned the hard way from that vile opera house director of the past.

Richard Firmin.

It’s a miracle he’s survived not one but two of his assaults, the latter ending in a fiery splash of yellow, orange, and red.

There was no need for him to reemerge to the public. Erik had received what he wanted. He had exacted his revenge, and he could be at peace under the mask of the Phantom of the Opera at long last.

Somewhat.

To his dismay, the man could only watch the world of music evolve into a monster of its own design. With fame and fortune the main goal and the beauty of music losing its finer touch... It caused his already broken heart to ache at how such testaments had been rewritten over time.

But alas, the past was the past.

The present was now.

For this moment, this was how it would be.

And yet, watching Ennis after the showcase sparks... Something in him.

Watching from the catwalks, the phantom wanders above countless performers with the same indifferent diligence. He knows it's a race for fame, for recognition, for that chance to be known.

It’s something he’s longed for since his younger days in the opera before that dream had been snuffed out.

But now looking back, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise for him to have been taken out when he did. That way, he wouldn’t have to fall victim to his own hubris. To be consumed by his own pride felt even more destructive than to be driven by his own desire for revenge.

That drive for vengeance finding remedy with the fall of Richard was something that the phantom so loved, so cherished... And nothing else mattered then. Now he could peacefully live his days quietly, as mad as he was.

Nothing but the ever changing cast of the music hall to keep him entertained, and he always came to the same conclusion...

That humanity was too absorbed in their own glamor, that their creations would never amount to the absolute power their creators held.

Which is why the phantom finds himself so intrigued by Ennis Saionji, watching the youth as he paces about.

Finally, the violinist comes to a stop. He raises his violin and bow once again with a refined poise. It’s a familiar stance, one he’s seen with the pit orchestra in the past.

However, what caught Erik’s eye was the expression written upon Ennis’s face as he did so... A calculated yet gentle kind of expression that he hadn’t seen in quite some time.

The last time he had seen something like it was from the man he so affectionately called the Angel of Music...

He saw that man in Ennis in that fleeting moment.

The violin begins to sound again, and Erik is reeled into the performance. The two of them are pulled into a world of Ennis’s own design, and the sound of the song...

It soothes his weary soul.

Erik certainly knows Ennis is of the few who were humble about their craft, putting the music they perform before themselves.

Watching the young man struggle over the tiniest details with a composed frustration sparks... Relief, if anything. To know there were still some people who gave a damn about music.

Maybe the phantom can find peace of mind with him too.

And again, the song concludes.

The phantom makes a slight smile at the end of his piece to make up for being unable to clap. Doing so would shatter the facade of the phantom, after all. He retreats further into the shadows as Ennis heads to his violin case, placing the instrument in with care and caution.

Upon the stage, Ennis is already making notes in his head to better himself for the next performance he would undertake.

As unsatisfied as he was at the moment... For the time being, it was enough.

He already knows that would be supported from overseas as a muffled chime comes from his coat pocket... And Ennis sighs fully knowing who it is.

He pulls out his cellphone, not giving a second glance to the caller ID as he presses accept and puts the phone to his ear, cradling it with his shoulder as he returns to putting his bow away. The case clicks closed soon after and Ennis responds.

“Why in the world are you up at this hour?”

His tone is cold, something akin to annoyance, but frankly, he misses Japan.

Ennis stands up, hands free as he takes his instrument case in one hand and his phone in the other, silent as he listens. Slowly he begins his departure, looking over the empty chairs on the ground level as he heads to the exit without a rush.

“Mhm. Sure, Katsumi.” He scoffs with a hinted chuckle at the end.

Erik peeks from the shadow of the balcony, eyeing Ennis as he passes down the aisle. He can’t help but wonder who he must be talking to to elicit such casualty from a world class musician. It piqued his curiosity watching a young man revert to just being young and lively, much like he was in his more reckless days.

“So you did manage to catch the performance.”

Icy blue hues turn toward the exit, but soon the musician sputters much to Erik’s amusement... How out-of-character of this professional.

“Wh- Is that all that matters to you? Not even paying attention to the music at all, I’m offended.”

Erik listens in on this faint one-sided banter as it begins to lose its resonance about the music hall.

“Did you expect me not to smile? There were cameras.

... I’m not that cold.

No, that was before! I’ve learned, can’t you tell?

I meant by the song, you dunce.

... Still, I do miss playing with you guys. Let’s get together when I come back.”

It’s surprisingly heartwarming to hear Ennis speak with such vulnerability to whoever this friend was and refreshing to know that the violinist wouldn’t be corrupted so long as his resolve was clear… And it didn’t look like that would be shattered anytime soon with his headstrong attitude and pursuit of perfecting his performance he could, whether through technique or emotion.

The last thing he catches before Ennis exits is a quiet laugh and a small remark.

“Don’t mess up your sleep schedule because of me, Katsumi. It’s just a few more performances.”

The door shuts...

And Erik is left alone to wonder just when would Ennis Saionji return to this beloved music hall, a small grin curled on his lips.


End file.
